


Cotton Soul

by MalsWords



Category: Alien: Isolation (Video Game)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Fluff With No Plot, Fluff with a weak excuse for plot, Hurt/Comfort, Nightmares, Post canon, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Slow Burn, ninety percent chance of forever-wip, stop looking for it, ten percent chance of rain, terrible forcast, theres no plot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-27
Updated: 2016-05-27
Packaged: 2018-07-10 15:07:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6990406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MalsWords/pseuds/MalsWords
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Amanda has been living in her own spartan appartment. She's been dealing, she's out of therapy, everything is just fine, thanks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [InterferonAlpha (Interferon)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Interferon/gifts).



Ripley nearly jumps out of her skin when the knock on the door comes. She fumbles her cup of coffee and grimaces down at it as it seeps into the cracks between the tiles, but decides to ignore it for the time being. First, door.

There is a fraction of a second that she thinks she's dreaming, that she feels the compulsion to check if she's awake. The feeling is stomped down quickly, replaced by years of coping mechanisms and the toughest emotional dampener she can muster.

Outside her apartment door, a Synthetic is standing straight and polite, hands behind his back and face placid.

It's the same model as Samuels.

She takes a moment to correct herself, mentally. _He_ is the same model as Samuels. She's partway through drafting a vicious email to the Company when she realizes neither of them have spoken yet. She doesn't meet his eye, but she quirks a brow impatiently.

"Be quick or I'm asking you to leave." She all but snaps, trying in vain to keep her voice from cracking. The synthetic's eyes do the telltale flutter and she focuses on his prim, freshly ironed button up grey shirt instead. She feels sick.

"May I come in?" He asks, and that's all she can take. Everything in her clenches up and she can't, can't breath, can't think. _It's not his fault._ she mentally soothes, but she grips the door frame tighter anyways.

"No. Absolutely not." _It's not his fault. It's not his fault._ She turns on her heel and the door snaps shut, her eyes brimming with tears. His accent is perfect, rich and gentle but still dusting his words in impatience. She doesn't move from the closed door, and she doesn't hear him move, either.

"Tell the Company to send it in an email." She snaps through the door, resting her back against it when her knees threaten to give out.

All she can feel is the claustrophobic heat of Sevastopol, the wailing sirens as he calls out from the recalibration chamber, the sound of him struggling to--

"Amanda, please." His voice is adequately muffled, now.

"Please leave."

"I won't. Please let me explain.-- Amanda, there was-- a salvage ship. Please, let me in." She hears what she assumes is his hand against the door.

Hers is clamped too tightly to her mouth to respond properly. She's had dreams like this, a hundred times. Dreams of him coming at her with the glowing red eyes of a Working Joe, dreams of waltzing with him slowly through the flames and wreckage of Sevastopol. Dreams of him here with her, sitting on her couch while she reads. She can't do this.

"The Company-- they needed my memories. My-- knowledge. Of Sevastopol. I-- I was going to-- I thought seeing you in person would be better. I'm sorry I was wrong."

She sucks in a deep breath and lets it out in a strangled sob, barely hearing him repeat her name from the other side of the door. When she turns to reopen the door for him, he's biting his lip nervously.

" _Samuels_."

Ripley chokes on her breath as she slams into him, digging her arms up around his neck and burrowing her hand in his hair. She's sobbing so loudly she's shrieking. Samuels sways gently in an attempt to soothe her.

"May we go inside, now? I fear you'll worry your neighbours..." His voice is so soft and light, delicate as though he fears his words might break her. She nods into his shoulder but doesn't move. He waits a few beats, trying to nudge her into motion, but when that fails he picks her up under her bottom and carries her across the threshold. She puts up no complaints.

Samuels steps gingerly around the spilt coffee as he moves into her living area, bending to place her on the sofa. She doesn't fight him when he pulls away to sit opposite her. She's stopped sobbing now, instead rubbing her palms into her eyes and struggling with broken breaths.

"If this... If this is some kind of sick joke--" she still can't really look at him, can't fully face this. From her perspective she can just see his hands neatly clasped over his knees, silent and calm. These pants fit him perfectly.

"I assure you, it is not a joke."

"Prove it."

His hands twist gently, but settle quickly.

"I-- I would rather not, it's--"

"Please." She croaks.

Samuels is quiet for a moment, and then ambient sounds start emanating from him. Her own voice speaks back at her.

 _'Samuels! You're up early.' There's a small clink, a beep. His voice replies that he doesn't need as much sleep as the rest of them._ There's a pause and she thinks he's done, but he's not. _'Fuck!' Her voice says, and there are sirens._ Amanda pales visibly, digging her fingernails into her palms. _'Ripley-- what's going on out there?'_

_'The emergency lights came on, I can't see the colours of the cables! You're going to have to guide me--'_

"Stop." She breathes, and she knows she's shaking.

"I'm sorry."

"No-- no there's. There's no way anyone could-- could _have that_ , unless they grabbed Sevastopol footage..."

His voice darkens slightly. "I would not want to put you through it, but with a port I can bring up the visuals, as well."

She shakes her head. "I'll-- I'll take your word for it, God.."

They sit in silence for a moment. When Ripley has gathered herself together enough to look him in the face, his eyes are tearful.

"Ok--- ok." She clears her throat and wipes her eyes, inhaling deeply. So-- so what. What's the scoop?"

He measures her for a moment, blinks heavily to clear his eyes of moisture. She wonders briefly what he must be thinking about to cry -- it's a very specific response in synthetics, usually done for show.

"As I said, there was... A salvaging ship. They were gathering droids and parts from Sevastopol to sell. I got nicked, assumably, and dismantled. Eventually my black box-- my recorder-- was hacked into by someone with a penchant for androids and a lot of spare time on his hands. Apparently they tried to hold the information of Sevastopol ransom against the Company, but Weyand-Yutani refused to pay up. They retrieved it by force, brought it back to be reviewed." He pauses for a moment, wrings his hands again.

"Black box-- your memory capsule? That's all that was left?" She could feel the tears drying on her cheeks, the salt making her skin itch.

"Yes. There was a lot of data, however. Too much for a human to go through, so the brought me back online-- a synthetic is but a copy of a hundred other synthetics of the same model, essentially. My memory core included all my interactions, all my conversations, all of my, well, life. Once a copy gains it's own experiences-- that's when it becomes an individual."

She perks up at this, her eyes widening with realization. "So-- slam your Memories into any synth body and it's you?"

Samuels smiles gently, leaning forward to mimic her interest.

"Yes and no. My decision making is very much so based on my model; my opinions on my experiences. It takes a while for everything to sort out. My memories have to... Play out, so to speak. My learning processor has to 'experience' everything, or else I'm just a newborn Synthetic with a large database to look at. It took me almost a week to process everything before I began to resemble the.. Person I was when you last met me."

Ripley frowns, trying to take it all in. He was doing a good job of distracting her from her emotions-- she'd give him that. Another realization hits her and she lets her breath out with a hiss.

"You're telling me if I had just grabbed your memory box--"

"Amanda, there was a very high chance that APOLLO would have fried it, too. I'm amazed they were able to piece it together at all. Sixty-eight percent of the connectors to the box itself were melted and fused shut, and they had to transplant most of the data. There are still.. Things that aren't quite where they should be, but I've straightened much of it out, or faded the less important memories back."

"That's-- ok. Wow ok." She realised with a start that the next logical step in the conversation is to talk about herself in turn. "Uh-- I've been pretty much not doing anything important the last two years. The um, the station went into the gas giant, I almost didn't make it. There was a whole fucking nest, Samuels. Marlow-- killed Taylor, tried to.. To take us all out. I'm the only survivor. Well-- and you, now. Thank god."

Samuels nods. He's read her papers, of course. He had to prep himself for coming to see her. As always he had underestimated the force of human emotions, but they were working past that.

"I was picked up after ejecting into raw space by a passing commercial ship, luckily. They gave me medical treatment, brought me back. I stayed in an institution for the first year. Lots of uh-- lots of night terrors and jumping at shadows. Therapy. Eventually I cleared my exam and they let me come live here, on leave. I'm actually cleared to go back to work ne- " She falters and snaps her mouth shut, flicking her gaze to meet his absolutely.  
"But you know that, don't you? That's why you're here, _now_."

The edges of his mouth turn up a fraction. "It may have partially influenced my decision, yes. But I have only been fully functional for a short time myself. The Company has been... fairly unwilling to let me out of their sight. There is much in my mind I'm not allowed to bring up in casual discussion, not to put too fine a point."

She licks her lips and nods. She'd undergone that talk, too. She hadn't taken the questioning particularly well, but if they had access to Samuels' memory of it, then they knew everything he did, cliff notes be damned.

"So what now." Ripely finally relaxes back into the sofa, letting her eyes wander over him. Every detail is exact, though she notices he looks much more.. Prim. She doubts how nicely he's dressed is entirely responsible.

Samuels responds by turning his palms to the ceiling passively, his hands still resting on his knees. "I'm not sure. The company... Decommissioned me, in a sense. As a reward. I'm still able to offer my services, so to speak, but..."

"You were fired. From Weyland-Yutani."

"No, I was _allowed leave_."

"You were let go."

Samuels pulls a face and looks away, his eyes focussing on the brown stain on her floor.

"That makes you uncomfortable, doesn't it...? That you're-- free." She continues, watching him lick his lips. He huffs a false sigh.

"I'm... Adjusting. I thought -- it's not important. I wanted to come see you, let you know someone else.. I did not want to.. Leave you."

She squints at him, leaning forward again.

"You thought what?"

"Amanda."

"No, no tell me."

He looks like he wants to run, or melt into the floor. His eyes glass over slightly and he withdraws more into himself.

"You-- are cleared for work in a few days. I've reviewed the offers the Company has set up for you, and--"

"You want to come...?"

Samuels' eyes clear and he turns to face her, fully and intensely acknowledging her.

"If you'd have me."

Ripley's heartbeat threatens to deafen her. She mimics him and licks her lips, but her mouth is dry and her tongue thick. She lets the silence stretch, well aware he's reading her every motion the same way she reads his. His eyes are still intensely focussed on her, so he hasn't taken her silence for a no. Good. She thumps back against the sofa.

"So--- so what. I have a personal Synthetic servant now?" Her knees draw up to her chest and she lays her arms across them, a last defence. Something she can't interpret flickers across his face, but he doesn't act on it.

"If... That is what you wish."

"But you don't think of it that way, do you?"

"I don't think at all."

Now it's her turn to scold him. "Samuels." She chides.

 _We've talked about this whole 'not treating yourself like people' thing._ Goes unsaid. Except they've never had that talk. They haven't talked about anything, he's supposed to be dead.

"I was built to serve, Amanda." He whispers, and the change in tone draws her back to him, intimately. She sighs, scrubbing her face. It was already mid-afternoon.

"Ok, yeah no that's ok. Though I have to ask, and I know I shouldn't have to but-- Why? Why me?"

Samuels straightens, the chair creaking with the movement. "It is difficult, as a Synthetic person, to form connections with people. Often others are... Unwilling to allow themselves to grow attached to things that cannot fully return those feelings. I have always held you in high regards, Amanda. You've treated me with far more dignity and respect, _personal_ respect, than is the norm for my coworkers. I thought if anyone might appreciate my services, it would be you. I think that, in regards to everything both of us has been through, perhaps a stable companion would not be an unwelcome thing."

Ripely huffs a small laugh. "Company would be more than welcome, yeah. Thank you, I guess. For deciding I'm worth committing to. That's a pretty crazy thing, to be honest. It's an honour."

"I hope you will come to see it as less than that. A small thing, of no consequence."

"You want it to be natural, then?"

He smiles softly. "Organic."

"I can work with that." She mirrors his smile and rubs a hand over her face again, stifling a yawn. Everything in her is beat.

"Cool. So what-- are you just gonna move in and follow me around?"

Samuels catches her off guard with a widening smile. "Well, I've been told I am quite exceptional at cooking."

"Oh good! Now I'm going to be even more bored out of my mind, thank god." She weakly sasses back, lacking the energy to lift her head from her arm and gesture.

They sit like that, for a while. Both lost in thought, in comfortable silence. Ripley had enjoyed Samuels' comfortable silence the most-- He never expected anything from her she wasn't ready to provide. If he needed her, he was relentless. If he didn't, he let her steer the conversations.

Eventually Samuels stands with a sigh and stretches. "I'm going to take the initiative and clean up this mess." He says, moving into her kitchen area. She laughs as he leaves.

"I'm sorry-- I totally just. Blanked."

"Don't apologize, Amanda. You've had a very rough day, I wouldn't expect anything of anyone in your position."

She smiles into her arm, feeling oddly content. It was so good to have someone to idly talk to, to hear movement in the other room. It was something she thought she could get used to.

"I'm absolutely exhausted, honestly."

She's vaguely aware of him moving to clean the coffee spill in the corner of her vision, but she's having trouble focusing.

"If you would like to rest, I will not be offended in any capacity."

"Mm. I might. Would you come with...? I'd like to keep talking, if we can. Not sure how much I'll be able to say, but..."

"Of course."

When Samuels straightens he moves to the sofa to retrieve her, but she shrugs him off. With a languid stretch she pulls herself off the couch and meets his eyes, though he stands taller than her. "I dragged myself through hell, I can make it to my bed."

He meets her with a weak smile, turning his palm upwards and gesturing for her to lead. He punctuates it with a polite bow and she cracks a smile.

"Minus points, you didn't say 'Mi'lady'."

"It was _implied_ , surely."

"Didn't hear it, doesn't count. I'm a stickler-- one of those real huffy lawyer types."

Samuels makes a low noise of amusement as they cross into Amanda's spartan bedroom. She has several books piled on the dressers, bits and pieces of mechanical projects (one Samuels is distressed to recognize as the Noisemakers she had used on Sevastopol) and on her bedside table a small black hexagon projected a small 2D image of her mother.

"If you want you can grab your chair...?" She mumbles as she tugs her shirt up, peeling the garment off in a fluid motion. He ducks out of the room to fetch the chair, assuming the suggestion was to remove him for privacy, but she doesn't care to check before shucking her shorts off as well.

Ripley's already tucked in bed when he returns and places the chair beside her bed, next to the night stand. As he seats himself the image of Ellen Ripley flickers and switches to a rotating 3D image of his own bust. He stops mid motion to stare at it.

Ripley sighs into her pillow. "If it makes you feel better they rotate and a rate of three fourths-- My mother stays up for a good half an hour, and then you rotate for ten, and repeat. I like it, it helps mark the passage of time in the dark."

"A night light, of sorts." He works out, watching the two inch hologram spin. His features are immensely more detailed than the 2d image of Ellen Ripley, his holographic hair fluttering gently in an unseen breeze.

"You sacrificed yourself for me. It meant a lot." She's watching him as he watches it, his expression unreadable.

"I had to come, to let you know I was still here-- I couldn't let myself be another person to leave you. I realize that, now."

"Thank you." She murmurs, and the blue reflection of the hologram in his eyes is the last thing she focuses on before sliding off to sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

Waking up isn't nearly as smooth as falling asleep had been. Sucking a false-yawn in through her nose, Ripley shifts and pulls the covers further up over her shoulder, shifting just enough to remain comfortably numb.

Something clinks down the hall, drawing her awareness sluggishly forward, and she's forced to try and identify the noises while attempting to remain asleep. There's another shuffle, a sliding sound. She's relieved that nothing in her is alarmed, that nothing in her associated this gentle movement with monsters.

She cracks an eye open and on her bedstand Samuels' bust rotates peacefully.

 _Ah_ , yes. "Samuels."

He clinks again in the kitchen area and then approaches her room, footfalls soft. He stops at her doorway.

"Figures you'd hear me all the way out there." Ripley croaks, dragging her tongue against the roof of her mouth to urge back moisture.

"I have been anticipating your awakening, yes."

"That sounds creepy."

She catches the edge of his smile. "Is it more so if I tell you I've been waiting for you to wake up based on your breathing and movement patterns over the last hour?"

"Watching me sleep, classic."

"You _did_ ask me to come with you to bed."

She hums her agreement and rolls onto her back, staring up at the plain white ceiling. She can smell bacon.

"What are you doing out there, by the way?" Ripley runs a hand over her face and gathers the energy to sit up. It's an unnatural feeling for her-- she's much more accustomed to rolling around in bed for hours unable to sleep and leaping out of bed the instant her eyes open in the morning. Last night might have been the best sleep she's had in years. Safe.

"Cooking." Samuels responds, and she turns her attention back to him. "If you shower now, it should be adequately cooled by the time you are finished."

"You made me breakfast."

"I did."

Ripley can't keep the smile off her face. Her cheeks were going to be sore at this rate, she muses, but she can't say she minds. Under normal circumstances having someone muck about in her home while she slept would have driven her nuts, would have set her completely on edge. Suspicious. With a hum she nudges against his shoulder playfully as she pads past to the bathroom. He doesn't have enough for warning to rock back with the light force of it.

It was absolutely surreal, Ripley muses as she smacks her palm against the shower module. She adjusts the temperature to approximately magma before pulling off her underwear to give the room time to steam up.

Samuels, in her home. Alive. How many times had she thought she'd seen him in crowded places? How many times had she thought someone was Taylor, had thought she heard Axel's drawl just out of earshot. Ricardo in her ear, shaken and distraught. With a heavy sigh she turns the temperature down to barely manageable and steps under the spray, closing her eyes to let the water run down her face.

How many times had she dreamed of her mother, face a blur, talking sweetly to her from somewhere she could never reach.

It takes her a bit to pull away from the melancholy, to breathe deep and let the water soothe her. Yesterday was awful, but there was no reason today wouldn't be ok. Well, no that wasn't true. Yesterday had been _mostly_ awful. Ripley felt like she's been hit by a truck. Of emotions.

She's still somehow smiled more last night than she had in weeks. _Little things, Amanda._ she tells herself. _Small victories._

With a sigh she grabs the shampoo, something bland and vaguely plant-fragranced. She's halfway back to standing when she slips, swearing in a startled shout as she loses her footing and knocks the shower door off its hinges.

One moment she's trying to regain her balance and the next she's lying on the shower floor, elbow throbbing where she banged it on the stall wall.

"RIPLEY?" Samuels barks from outside. In the same moment he comes barreling into the bathroom, wheels around, turns bright red and stops moving. She stares up at him with her mouth half open and water running down her face as his eyes flutter and his mouth opens and closes several times.

Something seems to click and he lurches towards her again, hooking a towel off it's mount on the wall as he moves past it. She's already smiling at his ridiculous display of processes, so when he moves too quickly and slips as well, she's howling.

He's blushing all the way down his neck as he shoves the towel against her from where he's sprawled beside her. His voice is still perfectly calm, "Are you injured?" He asks in a deadpan, though he looks like he wants to die.

She can't stop laughing long enough to answer, snorting obnoxiously as she struggles to breathe. Samuels' humiliation has drained to dismay, his skin drained of colour save for two bright spots on his cheeks. When she can breathe again she smacks her hand on his knee.

"I didn't even know Synths could _blush_ , let alone look like a sunburned god damned lobster oh my _god_." The towel pressed against her front is thoroughly soaked through from the hot spray of the shower, and Samuels' clothes are equally drenched.

He makes a small noise of horror by way of reply and his eyes glass over slightly. That's probably her cue to start reassuring him, but he made this bed and she's too high on endorphins to refuse laying in it with him.

"You _have_ to tell me what went through your head there, that was _magical_. You're perfect." She punctuates it by leaning forward to press a chaste kiss to his lips, still snickering as she struggles to her feet, only minimally holding the towel in front of her for his sake. There's probably some sort of anti-nudity process in there that's messing him up, but Ripley's an engineer and has worked on ships most of her life - modesty is a concept that's never really concerned her. It just feels so _good_ to be laughing with someone. He offers her a weak smile.

Samuels shifts to be more kneeling than sprawling, staring up at her with slightly wide eyes. She's grinning and her face hurts from the force of it.

He clears his throat and averts his eyes. "Sorry."

She waits for more, but nothing comes. The laughter dies down in her. "What do you mean, sorry? You came to my rescue, it was amazing. I've never seen anyone look so conflicted. The whole naked thing doesn't bug me at all, if that's what you're worried about! And not just because you're synthetic- I pretty much grew up on ships, you learn to get over it really quickly."

His soft eyes flick back to hers, and some of the mortification has drained away, leaving gentle humiliation. "That was absolutely awful, Ripley. Are you sure you're ok?" He pauses to lick his lips. "It will help to hear you say it."

"Oh, yeah. I banged my elbow and it'll probably have a nasty bruise, but otherwise I'm fine."

His shoulders relax visibly and she briefly wonders if he's going back into social mode. Would that be enough to activate an emergency response? It would explain a lot.

He slowly smiles, the quirk of lips spreading into fully showing teeth. When she returns it he laughs awkwardly and she thinks _my god, even his laugh is a careful mix of ideal and perfectly average and unassuming_. It's wonderful.

They spend a few minutes like that, just laughing and shaking their heads, and eventually Amanda wraps the towel properly around her and gives Samuels a once-over.

"Here-- let me get us dry towels, for a start..." She smacks the shower panel again to finally shut it off, still smiling softly to herself. It was still strange having someone else in her house. She realizes with a start he hadn't brought any clothes with him.

"Do you have anything you can change into?" She asks as she digs out more linens from the closet in the hall, swapping her wet towel out for a dry one around her and around her hair. She throws two more at him where he's standing in the shower stall, looking as composed as possible when wearing sopping wet formal attire.

He takes the towels gratefully and glances up at her warily. When she doesn't make any move to shy away he begins unbuttoning his shirt and peeling it off. "I don't, unfortunately. Everything I own is with me, which if you didn't notice is not much. I have some cables I picked up last night, and what I'm wearing. Everything else has always been Company issued."

"We should go shopping, maybe. Get you some variety, shorts and tees and that sort of thing." She tries not to stare as he undresses down to his boxer-briefs (who puts synthetics in boxer-briefs? You'd expect tighty-whiteys for sure) and fetches him her bathrobe instead. "You can throw this on while your clothes dry, though."

He thanks her with a tilt of his head and shrugs the bathrobe on. It's tight across the back of his shoulders, and the sleeves are a bit short, but he looks much more comfortable. Not for the first time, Ripley wonders what exactly his embarrassment and modesty stem from.

"I hope you don't mind that I'm going to skip my shower, I think- what did you make for breakfast? I smell eggs."

Samuels' smile is infinitely brighter. "You will have to come and see."

Amanda returns the grin and ducks out of the bathroom, stepping into her room to hunt for clothes. She pulls on a T-shirt and neutral high-waisted shorts before toweling off her hair vigorously and hanging the towels back up in the bathroom.

Samuels is back to moving around in the kitchen, plates and silverware clinking briefly.

"You didn't burn anything because of me, right?" She calls as she joins him. He has a plate of what looks like tiny pies, and it takes a moment for her to identify it as _mini quiche_.

He smiles, bright and slightly unsure, and she wonders how the _fuck_ he managed to make something like mini quiche in her bare-bones apartment.

"That's- wow. That beats the microwave dinners I've been living off of. Huh."

Samuels tilts his head and leads her to the tiny table, setting down the quiche and moving to wash his hands. There are already eating utensils on the table, spaced perfectly in expectation of the plate between them. Amanda sits gingerly, raising a small fork questioningly before putting it back down and lifting an entire quiche to her lips with burning fingers. She blows on it briefly before popping it in her mouth. Her eyes almost water it tastes so good.

" _Samuels_ This is incredible!" She mumbles around her mouthful of food, licking her fingers before getting a chance to swallow. He raises an eyebrow at her but doesn't say anything, and she can't tell if he's being humble or smug. Or still mortified about the shower experience, perhaps. As if reading her mind he gives her a slight bow and wanders back towards the bathroom, probably to mop up the water there. Rustling and clinking sounds confirm her suspicions immediately.

She eats the quiche faster than she should, her tongue burnt at the tip from not waiting for her food to cool. Serves her right for her impatience, but she hasn't eaten anything that fancy in _ages_ , if ever.

"Did you fix the door too?" Amanda asks when he returns. He nods and makes as though to sit beside where she's relocated to on the couch, but hesitates for such a brief moment she thinks she's seeing things before he moves to sit in the chair from last night. His hands hover on his knees and he manages to both gaze at her expectantly and as though there was nothing more natural in the world.

"Your clothes should be done soon," She offers, glancing in the direction of the drier. "Did you want to go out and pick up some more clothes? No time like the present, and all that."

"That would be more than ideal, yes." He answers carefully, looking away before continuing, "While we are out, perhaps we could stop by the fair. I hear it is in town all weekend."

"The fair?"

"Surely it would be nice to go out and experience the festivities."

"Festivities." She parrots, taken by surprise. A fair? Her? She's a grown ass woman and he's not even--

She cuts that thought off fiercely and forces a smile.

"Yeah, alright. My th-- I'm supposed to get out at least once a week, anyways. Maybe it'll be good. For us."

"Yes." His voice is soft, "For us."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's been damn near a year since I worked on this last... whoops...


End file.
